


Take That Bag Off Your Shoulder

by eyesofshinigami



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Harry, But he's kind of in control?, Fluff, M/M, Pining, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3205070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesofshinigami/pseuds/eyesofshinigami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry lets out a sigh. No matter how many times this happens, how many times they have to do this, it still doesn't make it any easier. “Come get back in bed, Lou. Come cuddle, yeah?” he tries. He opens his arms and smiles broadly, even wiggling his eyebrows a bit.</p>
<p>He gets a soft laugh for his efforts, but Louis stays where he is. He starts pulling clothes on, much to Harry's dismay. “If I do that, I'll never leave,” he says, voice breaking a little.</p>
<p>“That's the whole point.” Harry gets up from the bed and pads over to him. The cold air raises goosebumps on his skin and he fights the urge to shiver. “I want you to stay here with me. A couple of more days can't hurt, right?” He wraps his arms around Louis and pulls him in tight, like if he tries hard enough their bodies will fuse together and Louis <i>can't</i> leave. “No one has to know.”</p>
<p>He feels Louis melt against him, but it doesn't feel like surrender. “I want to, Haz, but... you know I can't.” It's always <i>can't</i>, never <i>won't</i>, even though that doesn't make Harry feel any better.</p>
<p>Or the one where Louis has to leave and Harry begs him to stay for a couple more days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take That Bag Off Your Shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so. This fic is the product of my overactive imagination and listening to "Change Your Ticket" on repeat. I also tried something a little different to see if I could get myself out of the writing rut I found myself in. >_>
> 
> Special thanks go out to [LouisandHarryandLove](http://www.headbandlouisaf.tumblr.com) and [iwillpaintasongforlou](http://www.canonlarry.tumblr.com) for their cheerleading and awesome beta skills. This wouldn't be half of what it is without you two. *kiss emojis*
> 
> And an extra special shout-out to [asteriaseren2010](http://www.asteriaseren2010.tumblr.com) for your kind words and extra push. Thank you so so so so much. <3
> 
> Title taken from _Change Your Ticket_ by One Direction, obviously.

It's not the sunlight streaming in through the window that wakes Harry up. It's the shuffling of feet and the metallic echo of a zipper being closed. He forces his eyes open, even though he knows all too well that he's not going to be happy with what he sees.

Louis is standing in their closet, naked golden skin on display that makes Harry's mouth water, like they haven't spent the past four days wrapped up in each other. The fingertip-shaped bruises and smattering of lovebites peppered across his lover's skin are proof enough. But not even the evidence of their time together can dissipate the heaviness sinking in Harry's gut. There's only one reason that Louis would willingly be up this early.

“Lou?” he calls out, sitting up in bed. He pulls the covers up around his waist as he folds his knees.

Louis whips around, face blank except for the bruises beneath his eyes. It hurts Harry's heart to see them there. “Morning, love. Sleep well?” he asks, forcing on a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“You were here, of course I did.” Harry rests his arms on his knees and watches as Louis turns back around, pulling clothes off hangers and tossing them carelessly into the duffle bag at his feet. “I probably would still be sleeping if _somebody_ hadn't decided to leave our bed.”

“Can't lay about all day. I needed to pack.”

Harry lets out a sigh. No matter how many times this happens, how many times they have to do this, it still doesn't make it any easier. “Come get back in bed, Lou. Come cuddle, yeah?” he tries. He opens his arms and smiles broadly, even wiggling his eyebrows a bit.

He gets a soft laugh for his efforts, but Louis stays where he is. He starts pulling clothes on, much to Harry's dismay. “If I do that, I'll never leave,” he says, voice breaking a little.

“That's the whole point.” Harry gets up from the bed and pads over to him. The cold air raises goosebumps on his skin and he fights the urge to shiver. “I want you to stay here with me. A couple of more days can't hurt, right?” He wraps his arms around Louis and pulls him in tight, like if he tries hard enough their bodies will fuse together and Louis _can't_ leave. “No one has to know.”

He feels Louis melt against him, but it doesn't feel like surrender. “I want to, Haz, but... you know I can't.” It's always _can't,_ never _won't,_ even though that doesn't make Harry feel any better. The breath Louis lets out fans across his naked chest.

They don't say anything, words not enough to fill the silence that's surrounding them. They wouldn't matter anyway; too many years and too much practice at this has taught them that there isn't really anything _to_ say. The best thing to do is to let their arms and kisses do the talking for them.

“I know,” Harry says finally, but the two words are lost in the press of their mouths together. He kisses Louis like he's drinking him in, filling a space inside him that gets wider and wider as the minutes tick by. He's not the only one, though. Louis’ hands clench in his curls and pull them impossibly closer.

Knowing doesn't make it easier, or make the stone in the pit of Harry's stomach disappear. It doesn't make Louis' eyes brighter or his smile any less brittle around the edges.

But, even with all of that, Harry knows neither of them would have it any other way. The days preceding ones like this make it worth it.

When they break apart, Harry's chest feels too empty and his head too full. “Do you need any help?” he asks, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He doesn't want to, he wants to shove everything back into the drawers they came from.

He knew he should have hidden the suitcase.

Louis sighs before pressing a kiss underneath his jaw. “No, I think that's everything. I took a couple of your jumpers, though. I didn't think you'd miss them too much.” The fact that Louis' own hoodie is still laid across the chair in the corner, where it will most likely stay, is something neither of them point out.

“I guess. Just this once though,” Harry teases. He could never mind that, seeing Louis in his clothes, though by now it's more _theirs_ than his anyway. “Don't let it happen again, Tomlinson.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, almost-Tomlinson.”

Despite the melancholy blanketing his shoulders, Harry thrills in the way such a simple statement warms him to his toes. He thinks about the matching platinum bands tucked away safely at their house. It helps dissolve the sick feeling his gut, knowing that one day they won't have to fly to separate continents and hide their love like it's something to be ashamed of. Hopefully soon.

“That's playing dirty, Lou.” Harry tweaks his nose and gets a giggle for his trouble. Louis playfully snaps at his finger and the mood lifts, even for a moment.

“I can't help it that you're easy.”

“Only for you,” Harry breathes out, afraid to break the fragile high ground they've reached.

Louis laughs again, this time his eyes crinkling at the corners that lets Harry know it's going to be all right. “Better be.”

The conversation gives way to companionable silence after that, Harry watching Louis move about their bedroom to pick up the last minute things he needs. They both know Harry will bring anything he forgets when he gets back to the UK, but Harry lets him be. While Harry gets quiet and subdued when they have to part ways, Louis gets too ramped up to sit still for long. It's like all of his sadness and frustration boils over in his veins and he can't _not_ move or otherwise he'll explode. Experience has taught Harry to just let him buzz around until he settles on his own.

Harry just sits on their bed and watches, waiting until Louis checks his bag for the fifth time to beckon him over. “Just for a minute, yeah?” he offers at Louis' questioning glance. Harry pats the space beside him, but Louis climbs into his lap instead. They curl around each other and Harry can feel the way that Louis is still practically vibrating beneath his hands. “Love you,” he says softly.

“Love you too. I wish I didn't have to go,” Louis replies just as soft, like they're telling each other secrets. It brings Harry back to nights in the X-Factor house for just a moment, filled with whispered confessions and soft kisses and fumbled touches. When they were both scared but too enamored to think about stopping until they were so deeply entwined it was hard to remember where one began and the other ended. Even four years later, Harry still feels like parts of him have been stripped away and replaced with Louis', in the best way possible. Which is why it always feels like losing a limb when Louis has to leave again.

“I know.”

The words disappear into the cloud of tension hanging over them, caging them in. Harry's arms stay wound tight around Louis' body, afraid to let go in case he disappears. Too many nightmares of that very idea flash through his mind and he shudders. He tries to chase them away with the rhythmic thump of Louis' heartbeat against his skin, even through the worn fabric of the white t-shirt they share so often. It reminds him that Louis is real, he's here, if only for a little longer.

He has no idea how long they stay like that, the lines of their bodies tight against each other, their tattoos lining up in a way that leaves Harry breathless. It's bittersweet, the way they've inked their love into their skin, letting their bodies speak for them when their tongues are tied down by contracts and non-disclosure agreements. He leans down and brushes his lips against the words scrawled across Louis' collarbones, the words that have become like a mantra for them both.

_It is what it is. It is what it is. It is what it is._

Louis lets out a sigh at the contact and his fingers clench tight in Harry's sleep-mussed curls. “Haz... it's almost time.” He doesn't move or pull back, but Harry feels the space widening between them already.

“Please,” he pleads one last time. It comes out choked, the single word cutting his mouth on the way out.

“Baby...” is all Louis can manage before they're kissing again. It's hot and bitter and tastes like the tears neither of them can shed.

Harry falls back and takes Louis with him, swallowing down a groan at the way Louis' nails bite into the skin of his scalp. Good, he thinks. The pain keeps him here, in the moment, not lost in his own head as they kiss like they'll never get to again.

Sometimes it feels that way.

Louis pulls back with a gasp of air, his eyes glassy and lips so red there's no doubt what he's been doing. There's a small, devious part of Harry that enjoys sending Louis away like this, dazed and claimed so that everyone knows Louis belongs to someone else.

Sure, they think of a pretty brunette girl, but they should know better. Nobody can fuck Louis Tomlinson up quite like Harry can. At least he has that to delight in.

The spell breaks when Louis stands back up, wiping his mouth and looking like he and Harry have been at it for hours. It just makes Harry want to pull him back into bed and kiss and fuck until neither of them can move. It must show on his face, because Louis smirks at him. “A bit excited there?” he teases, pointing down to where Harry's cock is starting to curve up against his belly.

Harry just shrugs. “Can you blame me? I'm sure anybody would be hard if you were writhing around on them like that.”

Louis rolls his eyes and blows a raspberry. His eyes crinkle just a little at the corners and his smile feels a little more real. Something in Harry relaxes a little.

At least, until a car horn honks outside and both of them start at the sound. As quick as it appeared, the light on Louis' face fades and leaves shadows in his eyes. “That's the car, then.” He steps back and he takes a deep breath that looks like it hurts. “Walk me out?”

“Of course,” Harry murmurs as he gets to his feet. He grabs the nearest pair of pants from the pile of clothes on the floor and slips them on. He can't look at Louis, not yet, not while his heart is sinking into his stomach.

They make their way down the stairs, the silence thick and suffocating. Harry reaches out and laces their fingers, like a last attempt to sew them together so Louis can't leave. It doesn't work; it never works. He swallows down a sob when Louis squeezes his hand tight before he lets go when they reach the door, leaving Harry feeling like he's adrift and lost at sea.

Louis turns around and bites his lip, eyes watery. “It's only for a week. We'll see each other soon,” he says, the end of it turned up like a question. Like he's not sure which one of them he's trying to convince. He's not wrong. They will see each other, but it'll be back to muted looks and aborted touches from across the appropriate amount of space allowed between them. Harry's not even sure that it counts.

Still, he forces a smile and hopes that Louis will ignore how brittle it is. “Of course,” is all he can manage without choking on it.

His body feels heavy, like his limbs are made of lead and it would be too much work to lift them to pull Louis back to him. He hates it, hates that this feeling, like defeat, blankets him and weighs him down. The worst part is he knows Louis feels it too, sees it reflected back in the way his eyes have gone dull and his entire body sags. They should be used to it, numb to the effects of having to separate and pretend they're practically strangers where people can see them.

But no. Which is probably both a blessing and a curse.

Louis makes the decision for them both, dropping his bag and wrapping his entire body around Harry's. His face is pressed into the space between Harry's shoulder and neck, breath harsh and wet with tears. “I love you,” he whispers against his skin, like maybe if Louis presses it there, it'll leave a mark.

It's like someone presses play and Harry returns the hug, fierce and long like they're characters in a movie, Louis being sent off to war. (Which, in a way, he is, but Harry tries not to let that thought fester too much.) “I love you too. So much,” he whispers, words soft against the shell of Louis' ears, keeping it a secret just for the two of them.

The car horn honks again and they break apart, and Harry imagines that he can almost hear the cracking sound when they split. “Call me when you get home?”

“Of course. Like I'd forget,” Louis scoffs. He picks up the bag and opens the door with a heaving sigh. “Take care of yourself, okay? Call Jeff if you need to.”

Harry makes a face, but nods. He wants to pretend that he'll be fine, that he'll go about his day as if there were nothing wrong, but they both know better. They both know he'll probably go out and fill the empty space inside of him with alcohol and strobe lights and faceless people he'll forget in the morning. Not that it's ever enough, but it's something.

Louis disappears through the door and it shuts behind him, the sound echoing through the empty house like a death knell.

He can hear doors slam and gravel crunching under tires and it pounds in his ears, ringing through his chest where it feels hollow. Harry has no idea how long he stands there, looking at the door like it insulted his mother, until his legs give out. He crumples to the floor and sits, feeling the coolness of the tiles creeping into his skin. It grounds him, gives him something else to think about than the stone in his belly and the sick feeling of resignation that is crawling up his throat.

_It is what it is. It is what it is. It is what it is._

-*-

Harry moves around the house in a bit of a fog. The rush of too many emotions and thoughts all at once have left him a little numb, a little restless. He straightens cushions that haven't been touched and finds non-existent dust to wipe away. Anything to keep his body moving forward so he doesn't just crawl into bed and cry until there's nothing left.

(The bed smells too much like Louis anyway, reminds him of all of the laughter and kisses and late night orgasms that have been shared in the last few days. He'll have to wash the sheets or go into the guest bedroom if he has any hope of sleeping tonight. The first night is always the worst.)

Before he realizes what he's doing, he's vacuumed the living room and the stairs and the dining room. When it hits him, that he's standing in the middle of the hallway in nothing but his pants fervently vacuuming their house in a way he never ever does, Harry just laughs. Full-throated belly laughs that hurt almost as much as they help, keeping the sadness from settling in his bones and clogging his throat with tears. Louis would tease him, call him his dutiful housewife before he bent Harry over the dining room table until Harry was a writhing, panting mess.

A thread of heat winds its way up his spine at the thought, but dissipates when he remembers that Louis is on his way back to London, like a splash of cold water that trickles across his skin.

He sighs and returns the vacuum to the closet under the stairs before escaping into the kitchen. The dishes are still in the sink from the night before, where he left them after Louis whispered dirty promises in his ear. He closes his eyes and remembers clever fingers dancing across his abs before dipping into the waistband of his joggers. He remembers Louis' too-hot tongue tracing the knobs of his spine, making him shudder. He also remembers the way that Louis tugged him away, telling him he could worry about the dishes later, licking his lips and face flushed.

He clutches at the sink and tips forward, hissing when the cool marble counter digs into his belly and bringing him back to the present. Now there's no Louis to distract him, no excuse to leave them longer. As he starts washing, Harry falls into a blankness that comes with doing something menial, giving him a break from the thick fog of his thoughts.

At least, until he reaches for the mug sitting on the counter and goes to wash it. It's Louis' favorite mug, the one he insists on using every time they're here. It's chipped on the rim from being dropped too many times and the design on the side is fading, but he knows Louis will never get rid of it. (Because Harry bought it for him in one of thrift shops he'd wandered into. Something about the dancing hedgehog was just too perfect.) The sight of it makes Harry's throat close and he can't bring himself to drag it into the sink with the others. Like if he washes it, he'll erase all of the evidence that Louis had even been here, that it wasn't part of some daydream Harry's lonely imagination came up with.

It's pathetic, but Harry doesn't care.

He finishes the dishes, ignoring the wetness on his cheeks and the way his vision has blurred around the edges. No, he's not going to let himself be crushed under the weight of his feelings. It's just a week, it's just one hundred and sixty-eight hours before he'll see Louis again. That's nothing. He can do this.

–

He can't do this. No matter how hard he tries, he can't shake the heaviness that's settled into his bones, how he feels like he's missing a limb. It doesn't matter that it's been four years of this; that doesn't change how much it hurts when he has to watch Louis walk away again and again. He can tell himself over and over again that he'll be okay, that he'll be fine, that he should be used to this same old song and dance.

He just can't seem to make his heart understand that.

So, he does what he always does. He mopes around the house, pretending to watch the shit television shows that they have in the States. He sends out a few text messages, trying to gauge which friends are currently in LA that aren't busy. (Most of them know what he's like when Louis leaves, especially Jeff, who Louis probably texted on the way to the airport.) He needs to find someone to fill the empty space next to him for a couple of hours, to help him drink until the noise in his brain quiets to static that he can ignore.

The rest of the day crawls by in a blur. Harry eats to give himself something to do, drinks tea out of the same dirty mug he refuses to wash, putters around the pool and flirts with the idea of going for a swim. But then he thinks about midnight skinny-dipping with moonlight glinting off of wet, golden skin and suddenly he's put off. It wouldn't be the same.

He curses and storms back into the house, grabbing his cell phone and dials a familiar number.

“'Lo?”

“Hey, it's me. Can...can I come crash at your house?” Harry asks, biting his lip. “I just-”

“I figured you'd call sooner or later. Yeah, you can. We'll go out tonight, okay? Getting you out will do you some good.”

Harry wants to argue, wants to say that there's only one thing that would do him some good, but it's on a plane back to the UK and he wants to throw something. “Just hurts,” he mumbles.

Jeff sighs into the phone. “I know, man. It's going to be okay, all right? Come over when you want and bring your stuff. Stay as long as you want. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, mate.” He disconnects the call and drops the phone on the cushion next to him, letting his head roll back.

It shouldn't be this way. He shouldn't have to run to his friend with his tail between his legs. He shouldn't have to hear the quiet resignation in Jeff's voice because they both knew this was going to happen. He shouldn't have to pretend to not like the person who carries the other half of Harry's heart in his chest after just a few scarce days to themselves. He shouldn't have to wait to watch while Louis pretends to give _his_ love to someone else, someone that somehow deserves it because she's a pretty brunette that _isn't_ Harry.

_It won't be forever. It'll all be over one day and it'll never be this way again,_ he tries to remind himself.

Right now, that's not enough. Not when Harry's loneliness is an open wound that for the briefest of moments, festers and throbs somewhere in his chest. Anger bleeds into the hollowness behind his ribcage and it makes him want to do something dumb, something reckless. He wants to earn the punishment that comes with just being himself and loving who he wants to, make it worth all the bad feelings and sadness.

He gets up from the couch and storms up the stairs, heading into their room to pack. He packs clothes that are too flamboyant, that draw too much attention. He grabs shirts that will flaunt his tattoos, that will highlight the ink that everyone knows is for Louis like light in a storm. He's determined to make a show of just how miserable he is.

After a few moments of being trapped in the whirlwind of his anger, he just stops. It's like a knot loosens and he deflates, sitting down on the bed in the piles of clothes strewn everywhere. Tears pool in his eyes and he wipes them away. “What are you even doing?” he asks out loud. It won't fix anything, won't make him feel any better. All it will do is make him feel like shit when he wakes up and remembers.

With a sigh, Harry stands up and pads into the bathroom. As much as he doesn't want to wash away the night before, he can't go to Jeff's smelling like Louis, like sweat and sex and love. He turns the water on and climbs in, bracing his hands against the wall as the water sluices over his skin, warming him after his rush of emotion left him cold.

He grabs the bottle of shampoo from the shelf and starts to wash his hair. Slow, methodical circles of his fingers to help clear his mind, to help wash away the last vestiges of his useless anger so that he can focus on something else.

“You know, I could have done that for you.”

Harry starts hard enough to knock his head against the shower wall. He blinks through the soap running down into his eyes and just gapes, mouth open like a fish.

Louis is standing there, arms crossed and smiling, mouth soft around the edges.

“W-what are you doing here? You're supposed to be on a plane!” Harry sputters. He watches as Louis strips down and climbs inside the shower, still not sure what he's seeing is even real. “But you said-”

He's cut off by a sharp pinch to his arse that makes him jump and yelp, nearly hitting his head again. “I know what I said. And I was wrong.” Warm, familiar hands curve up Harry's arms and draw him close, the heaviness in his belly replaced by butterflies and fizzy lightning that lights him up from inside. “So, here I am, fully prepared to let you feel smug for ten whole minutes before you're not allowed.”

Harry doesn't feel smug. He feels like crying, like the empty space inside his chest is filling up until it spills out over his cheeks. Uncaring of the shampoo still streaming down his face, he wraps his arms around Louis and holds onto him, like if he lets go Louis will disappear into the depths of Harry's lonely, heat-addled imagination. He sobs at nimble fingers working through his curls and the way that the line of Louis' body is pressed so close to his.

“How long?” he manages to ask between sniffles. His heart could burst, he's so happy. “How long before you leave?” He has to know, shaking as he waits for the answer.

“Two more days. I know it's not much, but at least this time we chose it. You know?”

Two days is still two days more than they had. Two days more in a schedule that neither of them get to have any say in. He wonders how many suits are losing their minds, how many interns are scrambling around trying to find the kink in the hose, the cog in their carefully oiled machine that failed them.

He lets out a noise of agreement and starts kissing along Louis' neck, eager to re-commit his taste to memory. His hips move restlessly and he feels heat flare in his belly. It doesn't matter that they fucked last night; Harry's body missed his even for the short time they were apart and he's going to take advantage. That reckless feeling builds up again, but this time, Harry knows the perfect way to fulfill it. “Want you,” he mutters, sinking his teeth into Louis' collarbone. He sucks a mark there, a brand that Louis can take home with him. Another act of rebellion that makes Harry's toes curl against the tile floor.

“Oh yeah?” Louis says with a chuckle, tilting Harry's head back to wash the shampoo from his hair. “What makes you think I'm going to let you?”

Harry's eyes close at the careful way Louis' fingers card through his hair and he lets out a noise of contentment. The desire is there between them, but Harry is loving the way that it's almost lazy. There's no rush and it makes Harry's blood burn. “Because you wouldn't have gotten in here with me if you weren't.” He cracks open an eye and licks his lip, delighting in the way Louis' eyes follow the wet drag of his tongue. “Because I can feel how hard you are.”

His hand snakes down and wraps around Louis' cock, thick and hot in his grip. He tightens his fingers and starts to stroke, pressing their mouths together so he can swallow down the noises Louis makes at his touch. He loves this power he has over Louis, the fact that it doesn't take him much to turn Louis on.

It goes both ways, though, Harry thinks as he pushes his own fattening cock up against the wet skin of Louis' hip.

The water cascades over them in a hot rush as they kiss and Harry continues to palm Louis, pulling down his foreskin and rubbing his thumb over the head. Louis' hips shift and he pushes his cock through the circle of Harry's fist, like he's teasing himself with what they both know is coming.

“I'm going to take you back to our bed, and I'm going to ride you into the mattress,” Harry whispers. He licks along the shell of Louis' ear and bites his lip against the sound Louis makes. “I want to feel you for days, so when you leave again I'll remember you're here.” There's no sadness weighing down his words this time, nothing but the heavy thread of heat that's coursing through him.

“You and your cheesy porn dialogue,” Louis grits out, but the way his fingers press bruises into Harry's hips lets him know he loves it. “This is what happens when I leave you for too long.”

“Then don't leave me.” Harry twists his wrist on the upstroke and wrings the most beautiful moan out of Louis, the sound sending shivers up his spine. Louis' cock pulses in his grip and Harry's own throbs in sympathy.

Louis grunts and nods. “Going to come if you keep doing that,” he hisses through his teeth. His entire body quakes when Harry drags his thumb across his slit, his cock flexing at the touch. Harry almost wants to drop to his knees and suck him until they're both dizzy.

But he has other ideas in mind. “Well, we can't have that. I think I'd much rather you come in me instead of in my hand.” A wordless growl is his response and Harry's smile curves against Louis' cheekbone. “I take it you're on board with that plan?”

“What the hell do you think?” Louis shoves him back and wrenches the water off, crowding Harry up against the wall. “My incredibly hot boyfriend-”

“Fiancé,” Harry cuts in, the word sending more heat bolting through his body. He thinks about the matching rings stashed away in his bedside table in London, about how a bit of shaped metal could make his entire body vibrate with happiness. About how it means commitment and forever and will show the world what they've both known since they locked eyes in a dingy stadium bathroom. He can't help but think it's hot.

“Fiancé,” Louis amends with a knowing smirk. His hips cant into Harry's, rocking them together in a way that makes them both shiver. “My incredibly hot fiancé keeps telling me he wants to ride my cock until he can't stand up anymore. Only a madman would say no to that.”

“Not my e-exact words, but they'll do.” Harry's eyes roll up in his head at a particularly good push of Louis' cock against his own. He needs to get them horizontal before his body explodes with all of the heat and affection that's swelling inside of him like a balloon. He fucking loves this boy so much, this boy who is risking everything just to stay with him a couple more days. Harry's so giddy he could fly away. Instead, he kisses Louis hard, licking into his mouth to ground himself.

He pulls back when the steam from their shower dissipates and goosebumps march along their skin. He takes just a moment to look at Louis, blue eyes blown black with lust and his lips a swollen cherry red from their kiss, and Harry knows he needs him _now._ “Fuck, let's go,” he says, gripping Louis' wrist and tugging him to their bed. He doesn't care that they didn't wash, that they're dripping wet and leaving puddles on the hardwood floor. All Harry cares about is Louis spread beneath him in _their_ bed.

Harry swivels and pushes Louis down onto the bed, watching hungrily as he shifts to sit up against the headboard. Against the white of their sheets, Louis skin glows and Harry wants to put his mouth all over him. He wants to map the lines of his body with his tongue and taste him all over again. But when he sees the heft of Louis' cock against his hip, still thick and hard, all Harry wants is to feel it buried inside him.

“Thought you said something about riding me?” Louis quips, taking his cock in hand. He levels Harry with a look that makes him flush as he starts to stroke himself, the head of his cock poking through his fist and making Harry's mouth water.

“Fuck,” Harry responds eloquently, words stolen at the sight. He climbs into the bed and straddles Louis, gripping the headboard hard. “Open me up.” It isn't a question.

He delights in the way that Louis shudders beneath him. Louis has told him countless time how much it turns him on to feel Harry's body stretch and surrender under his touch. Harry figures it would be rude to deny him the privilege.

Louis fumbles underneath the pillows for the bottle of lube that's always there, the _snick_ of the top ringing through Harry's ears. He feels the first tease of Louis' fingers along the crease of his arse, making him bite his lip. Heat lights up his body when he feels the first breach of Louis' fingertip and he eagerly pushes down, desperate for more. It burns in the best way, like fireworks shooting up his spine.

“Feel so good,” Harry rasps out, rolling his hips down. It roots him in the moment, reminds him that Louis is here and warm and solid beneath him. “More.”

On the next thrust, he feels Louis slide in a second digit, the stretch making him moan. He clutches at the headboard like a lifeline, like he'll float away if he doesn't. It's a familiar feeling and it makes his head swim, the way that Louis' fingers curl and twist and thrust inside of him. He can feel his body giving, loosening up, and he's almost ready.

“This what you wanted?” Louis asks, his breath hot against the sweaty skin of Harry's neck. He bites down and Harry moans again, body jerking hard enough to push his cock against the tight muscles of Louis' stomach. When Louis pulls away Harry already knows it's going to leave a mark, an echo of the bruise that Harry left on him in the shower.

_Good_ , Harry thinks as his rocks his hips, cock catching on Louis' skin and leaving a sticky trail. “It's a start.” His back arches as he reaches behind himself, grabbing Louis' wrist to still it. With a smirk, he starts to rock his hips and bear down, riding the fingers buried inside his body with practiced ease. His head falls back and he lets loose a sound at the look on Louis' face, like he could devour Harry with his eyes and his hands. It makes him feel powerful, hot, and loved. “Going to ride your cock like I'm riding your fingers.”

Louis doesn't reply; instead he leans close and flicks his tongue across Harry's nipple, making him cry out. He teases it with just the tip of his tongue and tugs whines and gasps from Harry's mouth with his teeth.

Harry's hands shift from the headboard to tangle in Louis' hair, pulling him closer. His mouth feels like fire, scorching across Harry's skin and churning his gut. He needs to have Louis inside him _now._ “Stop teasing and fuck me,” he taunts. He tilts Louis' head up and seals their lips together in a searing kiss as he rolls into the thrusts of Louis' fingers. The dual sensation has him gasping into his lover's mouth, clutching at Louis' hair like he can't get enough.

A particularly good thrust has Louis pushing against his spot, his back bowing as he breaks their kiss. “You mean like that?” Louis asks cheekily before pulling his fingers out of Harry's body.

“Fuck,” Harry replies, twisting to grab the lube that was left forgotten in the sheets. He coats his fingers and reaches behind himself to grab Louis' cock, grinning when Louis bites his collarbone. A few good, fast strokes and he scoots back, lifting up to press the head of Louis’ cock against his entrance. Harry curses when the head pops inside, the way that his body stretches around the intrusion. The burn is delicious, sparks flying along his nerve endings as he works himself down onto Louis' cock. This is what he wanted, to feel Louis so deep that he can't forget, even when he goes away again in a couple of days.

Once he's fully seated, he pants against the fullness and the stretch, waiting for his body to stop feeling like a live wire. Louis' fingers dig into his sides and he presses hot, sucking kisses along Harry's jaw as they both wait for Harry to be ready. It's too much and not enough all at once, and soon Harry's body is practically vibrating with the need to move.

He starts slow, lifting his body up before dropping back down, hard enough to jar them both into moaning. They fall into an easy, familiar rhythm that has Harry clenching tight around Louis, his cock a throbbing weight between them. His thrusts are slow and deep, like they have all the time in the world to stay right here in their bed.

Bracing himself with his hands on Louis' shoulders, he rolls his hips as he slides up and down, biting his lip at the way the head of Louis' cock teases at his spot. Lightning zips down his spine and settles low in his belly, a lazy burn that drives him crazy.

“You feel so good, fuck, want this all the time,” Louis babbles, hands tight against Harry's waist.

Harry nods, unable to manage an answer as he leans forward again. He's bouncing steadily on Louis' cock, delighting in the way it fills him up. The angle is perfect for the head of Louis' cock to hit him just right, to make spots dance behind his eyes and his body coil up. “Touch me, touch me, touch me,” he begs, his cock sandwiched between them. He wants to come, wants to cover Louis in him so that there's no denying who he belongs to.

Louis reaches around and drags his thumb across where their bodies are connected, where Harry is so full of his cock. “You sure? I could probably fuck you like this for hours, just watch you fall apart on my cock like this.”

A low whine escapes from Harry's mouth before he shoves at Louis, rocking up and slamming back down. His thighs are burning and he can feel sweat trickling down his back, but he's determined. “You're going to make me come,” he demands, much to Louis' amusement. Louis flicks his thumb across Harry's rim once more before pulling his hand around to grip Harry's cock. “Do it, please.”

“So polite,” Louis coos, flicking his wrist in sure, even strokes that match well with the way Harry's body moves in his lap. “Love it when you get like this.”

It's so good, Louis' cock heavy inside of him and his hand moving just how Harry likes. It's perfect, the way that they know each other's bodies and can create this rhythm, this symphony of sounds and movement.

He can feel his orgasm building, boiling at the base of his spine as Louis' cock hits his spot and sends sparks shooting along his nerve endings. He's so close it hurts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants. The pressure pops and Harry is coming, streaking up his belly and Louis' hand. His entire body vibrates with aftershocks as Louis works him through it, almost to the point of too much. He keeps moving, rising and falling as Louis thrusts up, chasing his own release. It feels like fire zipping through him but Harry loves the way it hurts so good.

“Come on, want to feel you, I can feel how close you are,” Harry whispers hotly in Louis' ear. He mouths along his jaw until he threads his fingers in Louis' hair and pulls his face up, sliding his tongue along his bottom lip. He kisses him hard and deep, grinding his hips down as Louis fucks up into him. He can feel Louis' breath quickening as he gets closer, until his fingers dig into Harry's sides and he chokes out a noise that Harry swallows down.

Harry moans when Louis comes in a hot rush inside of him, riding him through his orgasm. They bite and kiss and shake together as they roll their bodies to a stop. Harry doesn't want to move, doesn't want to lose the feeling of fullness and completeness that's coursing through him. He just wants to stay like this forever, where it's just the two of them wrapped up so tight that it's hard to tell where one of them begins and the other ends.

But soon Louis shifts and slides out of him, leaving a pleasant ache that throbs with the beating of Harry's heart. They're both tacky with sweat and Harry's release is cooling on their skin between them. It should be unpleasant and they should shower, but instead Louis tips them over onto the bed and huddles close, his front pressed to Harry's back. His hand settles on Harry's hip and pulls him closer, the line of his body perfectly matched with Harry's own.

Contentment settles into Harry's bones and makes him languid, sleepy. Louis is a pleasant, steady warmth behind him and he couldn't ask for anything better. “Why did you come back?” he asks, voice quiet so not to disturb the peaceful air around them.

Louis huffs out a laugh that tickles the hair on the back of Harry's neck. “I got to the airport and was sitting in the terminal and just... realized how stupid this is. What's two more days? There are more important things.”

He can hear what Louis isn't saying and it makes him feel light enough that he could float away. His heart feels like it could beat out of his chest with love for this boy. “I'm surprised your mobile isn't going off,” he says as he tangles their fingers together.

“I turned it off. It's still in my bag,” Louis says, and Harry can feel the way his mouth curves against his skin. “And I plan on keeping it that way. Probably going to shove yours in there as well if I'm honest.”

Harry laughs so hard the bed shakes with it. “What ever will we do with all this free time we suddenly have?”

“First, you're going to call Jeff and tell him something came up. Then you're going to make me dinner and then I'm going to let you fuck me on the couch. How does that sound to start?”

“Perfect,” Harry replies, shuddering. He knows it's only two more days, that Louis still needs to leave and there will be talking heads in suits who will keep calling to waggle their fingers in disappointment, but he doesn't care. He's sure a dressing down is in their future, but the warmth of Louis' body against his own makes it worth it.

Like Louis said, there are more important things. There are naps to be had and food to share and more orgasms to give each other while they enjoy their borrowed time. For now, Harry burrows further into the covers and Louis' embrace and starts to drift off to the soft breaths behind him. He falls asleep with a smile on his face and his heart light.

Everything else can wait.

-END-

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Kudos? Leave them here or hit me up over on [my tumblr](http://www.bandanasandband-tees.tumblr.com)!


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